Tuesday, December 15, 2009

"I don't know if it was S in his tuxedo telling me how fantastic I looked all evening, the big glass of gin & tonic I drank, or the little goodnight smooch I got, but this morning I woke up with my pajamas on inside out."

Really, what else is there to report?

I suppose there are a few additional details.

Let's start with this little beauty, the right hand ring. When I went shopping last week, I decided to search out a little bling to jazz up my black cocktail dress. The dress has a v-neck, and I didn't have a necklace that felt fancy enough.

At the store, I started trying on a few things on, but a saleslady saw me floundering and took pity on me. Turns out she is the accessories guru at the store, and I hit a home run with her on my team.

First, she found a black v-neck dress for me to change into. Then, she started getting out the sparklies. I may have tried on every necklace in the store. Nothing was right. Other gals who were out shopping were coming over and commenting. Sales ladies were placing their votes. Accessory Guru even took off her own necklace for me to try on. Still: meh. But then she found this ring in the back of the drawer. Love! I've been wearing my precious most evenings after work, around the house. I'm actively seeking other opportunities to showcase my new lovely.

Also, I purchased hair spray for the first time in my adult life. I don't know, I plead temporary insanity and an accessory high for leading me into the Aveda store. Surely, they'd have some options other than whatever shellac was used on my actual prom hairdo? I threw myself on the mercy of the clerk again, who recommended a spray that isn't sticky or stiff and should just lightly cradle my hair into place. It did, and my hair was appropriately tossled and only slightly voluminous.

It's hard to take a picture of yourself when you're racing around the house, trying to get pretty on time. Just imagine that I looked better than ever. Modesty prevents me from repeating the shower of compliments I received throughout the evening, but I certainly felt like a million bucks.

I got a call from S when I was in the final stages of fancifying. His sister-in-law and her friend decided to attend the party, and would be meeting us for a pre-party drink. I wish I had a picture of my face when he divulged this information. As it turns out, I was glad to know a couple of additional people at the party. They were both friendly and nice to me, and I only caught S giving her a "shut up" look once or twice. I liked how she wasn't afraid to bust his chops a little bit, and he seemed to enjoy and tolerate a little good-natured ribbing. He big brothers her--she's about 10 years younger than him--even though they aren't actually related, and I thought that was pretty cute.

We'd been at the party a while when he pulled me aside, out of a conversation where I'd been nodding and smiling along to a stranger's story I didn't 100% understand. He wanted me to know that he appreciated my being a good sport, and wanted to make sure I was having fun. He also wanted to tell me that he didn't want to make any assumptions, but that he'd already bought hockey tickets for us for next weekend.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

That's right, the clever fella emailed me to let me know that he thought a six hour first date was a good thing, and that it might be a little premature, but he wanted to know if I'd go to prom with him. And by that, he meant a holiday cocktail party this weekend where he'll be wearing a tuxedo. A tuxedo that he owns.

It's like my letter to Santa was re-routed to him! Would I like to see him in a tuxedo and wear a fancy dress? Indeed I would. He joked about letting him know what color dress/outfit I'd be wearing so he could get an appropriate corsage, so I felt like I should let him know that if we were attending my actual prom, I would be wearing a hot pink dress that included both sequins and taffeta. And an enormous pile of hair. Seriously, that thing attached to the back of my head looks like a nest! If I recall correctly, the hairdresser pulled my hair into a ponytail and then curled/teased my hair out and bobby pinned it down to the back of my head. I had to wash my hair three times to be able to just get a comb through it afterwards. Good times.

He told me a little bit more about the party yesterday, and said he thinks it will probably be fun, but a little strange. Friends, "fun, but a little strange" is pretty much in the top five on a list of ways I'd describe myself. Also on that list: "slightly terrified about attending a party with 40+ strangers on a second date." At least I'll look cute. . .allegedly.

Last night, I delved into my closet to see if I had any options. I found three black cocktail dresses, one of which I'd totally forgotten about. The first one is a cute shift dress I bought years ago. I know it's from a while back because the size of the dress is two entire sizes smaller than the size of the pants I'm wearing today. A try-on attempt revealed that I am currently too bootylicious to wear it in public. Good to know. The second option is an adorable dress that I have never even worn. It's the same dress my bridesmaids wore in my wedding, from White House Black Market. It's strapless, with a scalloped hem. Very Audrey Hepburn in my mind. The bodice was tight enough that I felt indecent. I don't need to spend the evening worrying that anything is about to bust out, if you know what I mean. Option three might be a winner: I bought it to wear to a black tie wedding, and it fits like a dream. I do wish the skirt part were a little shorter--it hits along the bottom of my knee. Lucky for me, the internet has been very helpful in recommending accessories, so I think I can jazz up what would otherwise be a little bit boring.

Of course, if my letter to Santa was actually involved in the planning of this evening, I'd be wearing a smokin' hot red dress bought on super sale and have the body to match. A gal can dream, right?

Monday, December 7, 2009

S and I decided to meet (for the first time in person) at the Draught House, and I rolled through the parking lot right at 4 o'clock on the dot. The tiny parking lot was full, and I noticed a guy from work standing outside and drinking a beer with a few other people. The guy, who I'll call Chuck, didn't see me roll throught the lot, and I didn't see S, so I went ahead and found a parking space on the street. I texted S to let him know I'd arrived and was on my way in, as I was then three minutes late.

I rounded the corner into the parking lot, and saw S standing in the doorway. Chuck's group was between us, and Chuck hollered "Hi Guava!" as I approached. I waved at S, and yelled hello to Chuck. Chuck followed up with a rowdy"What are you up to?" I yelled back "I'm on a date!" and pointed at S, who was now walking towards me.

And then it happened.

Chuck yelled "Where's your hubby??"

That's right. I'm meeting a dude for the first time, on my first date in over ten years, and some jackass is hollering at me across a freakin' parking lot about the whereabouts of a husband belonging to me.

I'm surprised I survived the wave of shock and embarrassment that consumed me.

I tried to play it cool, as I gave S an awkward hug and made some sort of not-very-snappy comeback for Chuck. Inside, I tried to overcome the horror by making fun of the situation, and I think I handled it okay. At least S didn't suck down his beer, make an excuse, and leave me sitting in the Draught House.

Instead, we spent the next six (!!) hours together. The first 3 and a half hours were spent drinking, and talking, and laughing. I wasn't drunk, and I don't think S was, either, but after we each finished our third pint, I felt like a fourth may have put me past my first date comfort zone of sobriety. We decided to adjourn to a sushi place in the Triangle, and met up there. I managed not to drop any soy sauce or sushi down the front of my sweater, which I consider a personal triumph.

At the end of the evening, he walked me to my car, and asked me to text him when I arrived home so he knew I made it safely. He gave me a hug, and I hit the road. My follow-up text thanked him again for a fun evening, and told him I enjoyed spending six hours with him. He responded that a long date equaled a good date in this case. Awww!

Yet, I have no idea if I'll hear from him again. Don't guys usually say something like "Let's do this again!" or "I'll call/email/text you next week"? He's a little hard for me to read. Several times throughout the evening, he made comments about how I seemed to have all the right answers or it was like I was reading his mind. Yet, there were also a few mildly uncomfortable pauses where I wondered if he wished he could figure out a way to wrap up the date.

On the other hand, I didn't say anything about getting together a second time, either. I felt like I had already been a little more forward than normal to get to the date; after he and I emailed several times, and I didn't hear from him for a week, I called him. At the end of that call, he said he'd email me to find a time to get together, and I didn't really think I'd hear from him again. But, sure enough, he emailed me the next morning, and out we went. The waiting game is back on!